Sleep little baby, sleep now my love
by Vicis
Summary: Scabior muses on his past while out on a job.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, nor the quote in the title (from Lullaby by Tim Minchin)

A/N: My first fanfic upload! I hope you like it. Rated to be on the safe side, will probably be quite tame compared to most stories;I'm not entirely sure what it should be rated as (implied rape with absolutely no details and death of a very young child). Not much information is given about Scabior's past, so I just made a bit up.

"Sleep little baby, sleep now my love..."

Vermin. Scabior had long since stopped seeing them as people. It was his job to round them up: the mudbloods, the blood traitors: the scum. He brought them to the Ministry for questioning; not that there was much questioning done. Once the Ministry workers got their claws into the prisoners, they died trying to escape or they died in Azkaban. Scabior couldn't afford to care though: they were his one source of Galleons. Galleons bought Scabior three things in life; food, alcohol and, most importantly, women.

The latest batch that Scabior had been sent to round up had been living comfortably in comparison to most others: they, at least, had a house and food. His Snatchers would enjoy this. It's not much fun chasing those who try to run on an empty stomach after months spent camping in a forest. Adrenaline only takes them so far before their legs give out and they collapse, rendering them able only to beg for mercy. Scabior didn't like it when they begged; it made the job harder: it dug up memories that needed to stay buried for him to have any hope of making it in this cut-throat world. It was kill or be killed and Scabior was smart enough to know which side his bread was buttered on.

Scabior began to gather up his gang of Snatchers, his attention more focused on watching a witch who had stumbled drunkenly out of a nearby tent before she disapperated. Without much patience for grumbling (mainly coming from those who enjoyed their sleep a little too much to be good at this job) Scabior briefed his men before they disapperated.

The muggles were everywhere when the cluster of outcasts arrived. Scabior counted his few blessings that they had chosen a less densely populated street to appear into, rather than their intended destination. He couldn't risk raising that alarm. They would stand out anyway: no one does this job and stays clean, or even maintains a normal appearance for any length of time. For once, Scabior mused, Greyback would come in handy. The wolf's talents mainly lay in intimidation, so he was good at scaring off nosey muggles. The gang moved towards the house, Scabior at once taking efficient command, ordering his men to cover every exit. He disliked travelling with a group consisting entirely of men: he missed waking up to see a feminine figure. There were precious few women willing to do this job; fewer yet could put up with Greyback. There was one woman who had travelled with them for a while, although girl might be a more apt description, when her age was taken into consideration. She had been almost as bad as Greyback: a bit too twisted for Scabior's liking. She was found in a forest with her brother; she ran quickly, almost too quickly, but not quite. Scabior always caught them in the end. Making a split second decision, she demanded to join their ranks. Scabior had laughed, claiming that she didn't have the guts, before she turned her wand on her own brother. It still amazed Scabior just how badly this war twisted people. Still, she was with them no longer, not since Greyback had decided to give her a little 'initiation'. She ran and Greyback didn't dare go near any captives for some time after that.

Snapping his mind back to the job, Scabior broke though layer upon layer of protective enchantments, admiring the couple's charm work. Once though, the Snatchers burst into the house on Scabior's command and the inhabitants automatically made for the stairs. Scabior could see why they had needed all of the protective charms; they were useless in a fight. They had been overcome in an instant: the Snatchers were always swift to ensure their victory.

Once satisfied that the couple were not going to escape, Scabior dispatched the two newest members of the gang to the Ministry while the rest of them enjoyed another little perk of the job. Despite all of their differences, most Snatchers agreed with the "Finders, Keepers" philosophy laid down by the muggles.

While most of his gang seemed preoccupied by the wealth of items downstairs, Scabior ventured upstairs. He had hoped to find some jewellery: that always fetched a nice price. Finding the master bedroom, he let himself in and quickly filled his pockets with items to sell on later. He turned, about to proceed back downstairs to gather up the rest of the group, when a soft sound caught his attention.

Venturing forward, exceptionally light on his feet, (one of the vital skills for snatching) he crept into one of the neighbouring rooms to find a baby, alone and crying. The boy couldn't have been more than a year old, his tufts of dark hair messy and his small paws clutching a teddy bear. Scabior stood stock still, wondering what to do until he noticed the child's eyes: exactly the same colour as his brother's eyes had been. Decision made, Scabior crept forward, hushing the child and began to sing his brother's favourite lullaby: a tale of a wizard traversing the Milky Way on his broom.

Scabior's body remained stuck in the present, but his mind flashed back to earlier times: his mother rushing up the stairs, wide-eyed, panicked. His father's scream from downstairs. Then her. She came. He never saw her face, just heard her voice: cold like her master's. Scabior never found out how his parents had upset this woman, but she was livid. She tortured his father to death and after being placed under the Imperius curse, forced his mother to kill her own child, Scabior's only brother before his eyes. Scabior had remained hidden in bed, as he was instructed to do, eyes just peeking out from beneath the blankets, until she turned and noticed him. He was offered a choice. Service to the Dark Lord or death for him and his mother. He was afraid and chose a lifetime of servitude. He kept his life. His mother didn't. She was murdered before his eyes.

A creak of the stairs alerted him to someone's approach, jolting him back to the present. Scabior knew those footsteps: Greyback. The wolf had a particular fondness for children. Scabior knew what he had to do. Placing the now silent child back into its cot, he stepped back, taking a deep breath and wiping his eyes. He couldn't take back his own family's pain, but he could save this one child from it.

"Avada Kedavra."


End file.
